


every now and then I wanna feel that empty space

by sallymalik



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Alternate Universe - Sports, Blow Jobs, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexting, but mostly - Freeform, porn with a little plot, smau
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24935266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallymalik/pseuds/sallymalik
Summary: Richie looks undoubtedly tired, resting against a large wooden dresser covered in all sorts of stickers—bands, other teams, an assortment of cartoon images Eddie figures must be from children's sticker books. They surround Richie like a halo, teddy-bears and middle fingers casting a saintly aura around his broad frame. Eddie still hasn't gotten used to looking at him, to seeing him as he is. As he might be.Companion piece to updates 100 & 101 of @pkb_au on twitter
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	every now and then I wanna feel that empty space

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this will totally make sense if you don't read the smau but honestly... it's kinda fun and wild enough to work on its own for like. 80% of it
> 
> Title from FUBT by Haim, beta'd by Ken! thank you Ken!!!
> 
> Richie's texts are italics, Eddie's are bold italic

Eddie, most of the time, considers himself brave. Not that it didn’t take careful work to get to a place where he could regard himself in such a way, even acknowledge it might be true. He no longer associates himself with words like _delicate_ and _cowardly_. Spending his entire adolescence being treated like the _Bubble Boy_ caused him to rebel in explosive, impulsive ways. Like kissing Richie.

Oh, he shouldn’t have kissed Richie.

The dark bar had smelled like sweat and booze and Richie wouldn’t stop asking about _Jesse_ , as if Eddie _liked_ Jesse. Eddie had been rationalizing Richie’s attachment to him as some way to cope post coming out, that Eddie was someone Richie could trust to explore this with—nothing more. Then they were fighting, and Richie was so close to him, and _looking_ at him in a way that made his hair stand on end. And, even though Eddie hated the cigarette stench of his breath, he still pulled him in, strong enough to rip the top two buttons of Richie’s ratty old shirt right off.

The two of them had looked at each other, wide-eyed and speechless, and it took everything in Eddie not to tell him, not to say the thing that would truly give him up: _that he hadn’t wanted their first kiss to go like this._ That he’d thought about it at all.

Richie was inexperienced, closeted for the most part, and desperately seeking validation. Eddie couldn’t live up to that image of himself he just knew Richie was crafting. Better yet, he couldn’t be Richie’s trial run, his experiment—not when he knew, instinctively, almost _viscerally_ , that they could be so much more than that. He’d back off until the timing felt right. Until he’d had some space to process how he felt. Until Richie's had some space to grow on his own. He didn't want to ruin it before it's even begun.

Sitting on the floor of Sandy’s room, just a few feet across from Richie, he realizes he might have done so already. Richie looks undoubtedly tired, resting against a large wooden dresser covered in all sorts of stickers—bands, other teams, an assortment of cartoon images Eddie figures must be from children's sticker books. They surround Richie like a halo, teddy-bears and middle fingers casting a saintly aura around his broad frame. Eddie still hasn't gotten used to looking at him, to seeing him as he is. As he might be.

Richie likes him. He knew that already, to some degree, but now Richie's said it. Three words, staring back at him from his text messages. _i like you._

Richie keeps looking at him and looking away, the two of them illuminated by the bright lights of their glowing phone screens.

_how else was i supposed to make you jealous_

_you immediately told me you didn't want me_

Eddie's heart drops into his stomach. If only Richie knew how much that wasn't true. He could tell him. He could make good on his promise to himself. He could be brave. Stupid, but brave.

**_I want you so fucking much._ **

It feels so much easier to send it then say it, to spare Richie from having to hear the truth spill from his own mouth, the way he knows his voice would give _everything_ away. He watches Richie read it, the tension in his shoulders melting away with the relief of it.

Oh. Had Richie really been feeling this as strongly as he had?

_why  
 **what**_   
_tell me why you want me please_

Eddie's eyes dart up to meet Richie's, looking at him intently. He can feel his heart beating in his chest. He knows what game they're playing; he knows what's next. **_you're begging_?**

He looks back up, waiting for another one of Richie's silly, teasing responses, something that will avoid the problem entirely. Instead, he's met with three letters: _yes_

Eddie starts with what he knows won't be too intimate, won't switch from lust to love, or something akin to it. Richie's body, how big he is, the way Eddie feels around him, the way Eddie _wants_ to feel around him, under him, on top of him—

**_you’re so sturdy_ **

Richie laughs and gently raises his broken arm, still in his marked-up cast. _not sturdy enough_

Eddie can’t argue, _won’t_ argue with him, instead releasing a stream of consciousness as he watches Richie shift in his seat.

**_shut up  
you talk so fucking much I love it and I fucking hate it_ **

There are a million things Eddie could say, a million reasons he finds Richie attractive. All would make him too exposed, too vulnerable in Richie’s eyes. Richie doesn’t know him like that. Not yet.

**_fuck  
I don’t want to say too much_ **

Richie looks up at him before sending his next text. _why?_

Eddie huffs out a quiet breath. **_it’ll go to your head._**

Richie shifts in his seat again, pauses as if to consider something, and types again.

_trust me it’s not going to my head_

Richie moves his hands away, spreading his legs to reveal the hard outline of his dick in his jeans. God, Eddie can’t begin to unpack why he decided to wear jeans and a tuxedo shirt to a fancy New Years Eve party, but that’s a problem for another time. The problem now is that Richie is hard. Richie is hard for _him_. Eddie doesn’t even know for how long; he couldn’t have seen it before now.

He watches Richie swallow thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he spares a glance to his screen. Eddie realizes then he’s waiting for a response.

**_oh fuck  
look at you_ **

And he means it! Even in the dim light Richie’s bigger than Eddie ever would have expected. Richie whines at the message, pressing the heel of his cast against his cock. Eddie’s breath hitches in his throat at the sight.

Richie catches the sound, looking to Eddie and back as he types _can i? please?_

Eddie doesn’t have the strength to think anymore.

**_yeah_ **

**_I want to see it_ **

Richie drops his phone, doing as he’s told. It takes him a second to unzip his pants and shimmy them down _just_ enough but when he does—Eddie nearly melts. His cock is thick, _big_ like him, already leaking at the tip. Richie looks Eddie in the eyes as he strokes himself, challenging Eddie to join him. He still doesn’t know if he should speak, if Richie will freeze up and stop if there’s any threat of them being heard. He sends one last text, **_fucking christ richie_** , but Richie doesn’t look away for a second. Eddie feels like he’s on fire.

“Fuck it.” He mutters to himself and gets up on his knees to lock the door.

“What are you doing?” Richie startles a little at Eddie’s sudden movement.

Eddie looks back over his shoulder, back to Richie palming his cock, and makes an executive decision.

“Can I blow you?” Relatively no mess, little hassle, and Eddie gets to get his mouth on him. It’s a win-win. Happy Eddie, happy Richie.

Richie nods fervently, pulling his pants lower and spreading his legs so Eddie will have better access. Eddie settles between his thighs, ducking his head to nose at him, get used to the smell and taste of him. He licks him up and around the base, causing Richie to whimper and shiver underneath him.

Richie’s loud. Of course he is. The second Eddie gets his mouth around him Richie full-body sighs, light breath trailing into a low moan as he hits the back of Eddie’s throat. Eddie gives him a warning look, _be quiet,_ and descends again. It’s smooth sailing for a moment, Richie’s cries muffled into the palm of his hand.

Something dull hits Eddie on the back of the head. He winces and pulls off, looking up at Richie with furrowed brows as he rubs the spot.

“Sorry, sorry,” Richie breathes, looking mortified. He raises his hands in defense, highlighting the culprit—his cast. “I was aiming for your hair. Can’t cover my mouth with this one.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, thinking for a moment. He licks him again and Richie lets out a cry Eddie knows would give them away on any other occasion. “Fuck, you’re loud. Guess we’ll have to find a different way to shut you up.”

Richie’s visible shame shifts to something different, something open and wanting. There has to be something nearby Eddie can use as a gag. _The dresser._ Eddie shifts, pulling Richie up with him, looking for something like a tie or—

Richie beats him to it, grabbing a balled-up pair of socks and presenting them to Eddie.

“You sure?” Eddie looks him over, thinking for a second. The question goes for all of this now, _are you sure you want me? Are you sure you want me like this?_ “I can tie it? Like a real gag, might not be as gross—”

“Literally just shove it in my mouth and suck my dick.” Richie says, bold enough to make Eddie pause. Faintly, he remembers Richie’s cigarette breath. “Please. Please, _please, please_ —”

Eddie does as he’s been told, pushing the fabric past Richie’s lips, his teeth, effectively shutting him up. Richie moans in relief, melting back against the now closed dresser. It’s amazing to Eddie to see him relax so quickly, he wonders how much of this he might be into.

“Good boy.” Eddie tests, and watches Richie’s hips thrust up and his eyes shut tight. Bingo.

He lowers down again, faintly hearing Richie babble around the gag. The sound goes straight to his dick, making his neglected erection throb in his dress pants. He spreads Richie’s legs further and repositions himself, laying with his front pressed to the floor and his leg hitched up to the side so he can grind against the carpet. He humps lazily, moaning around Richie’s cock, and for a minute it’s perfect. Richie in him, around him, begging for him like he’d teased him so often about.

Richie pulls at his hair, a warning, and Eddie pets his thigh encouragingly, telling him to go ahead. He can hear Richie say something that sounds like _I’m coming I’m coming I’m coming_ before the evidence of it shoots hot into his mouth, bitter and salty and all too familiar. Eddie swallows him down until Richie’s whining becomes a little more frantic and he’s pushing up at Eddie’s head.

Eddie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, cleaning off the excess spit as he watches Richie come down. Carefully, he pulls the gag out of his mouth, to which Richie makes a face of disgust and reaches for his beer to wash the taste away. Eddie doesn’t remember him coming in with a beer.

Oh. Right. Because Eddie didn’t come in at all. Paul sent him to find Richie—Richie’s _date_ sent him to find Richie, Eddie’s _friend,_ and Eddie did the friendliest thing of all: suck his dick. He sits back up on his knees, realizing he’s just fucked everything up. Again.

“You don’t have to think so hard.” Richie says, reaching out to presumably undo Eddie’s pants. Eddie pulls away at the last second, falling back onto his ass as he takes stock of the situation.

He’s such a fucking _selfish_ _dick._ And in Sandy’s room! She’ll never forgive them if she finds out. If anyone finds out, and he has to go to work and face having stolen Paul’s new boyfriend, or practice and having to face _Wendy._ God, could he think about other people for once in his fucking life!

Brave doesn’t mean what Eddie thinks it means in this moment, brave means wickedly and terribly selfish.

He stands abruptly, wiping the dust off his legs. “I should go.”

He’s still hard, and it’s still distracting. The cold air will help.

“Come on, man,” Richie looks up at him, eyes magnified by his glasses. “Did—”

Eddie’s already leaving. As he shuts the door, he can hear the end of his sentence, ringing in his ears. _Did I do something wrong?_

Outside, he lets the December weather settle over him, wishing he had the lung capacity and the stomach to have a cigarette. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Follow me on twit @evankaspbrak and the au @pkb_au ! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated


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